


Birthday (the Fingerless Gloves Remix)

by Nostalgic_Kitty



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Birthdays, Boys Kissing, First Kiss, M/M, X-Men Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 07:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4737959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgic_Kitty/pseuds/Nostalgic_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles thinks nothing of his birthday, until he remembers about the new addition to his household-the young boy named Erik whom he found a few months before, stealing food from the mansion.</p>
<p>Or Erik surprises Charles three times on his birthday and Charles couldn't be happier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday (the Fingerless Gloves Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kernezelda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kernezelda/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Birthday](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/141971) by Kernezelda. 



> Remix for Kernezelda! Hope you enjoy the modest little fic that I created for you. <3

Charles wakes up on his birthday groggy and trying to process the warmth of the hand gently shaking him awake. His mother never wakes him up, let alone so softly, preferring to drown her sorrows in alcohol than actually take a moment of her time to exhibit even a faked love towards her only child. Feeling petulant and still sleepy, Charles turns away from the hand with a small whimper, feeling his lower back twist uncomfortably from the place at which his unmoving legs attach to his hips.

“Charles,” a voice whispers, the tone deep and raw from growing vocal cords. All at once, the reality of his new living situation washes over Charles. The hand on his arm is _Erik_.

“’M tired. Go away,” Charles says, squeezing his eyes shut against the patch of light that hits his face and trying to keep a traitorous smile from making its way to his lips at the feeling of Erik’s exasperated fondness in his mind.

“Charles, wake up. It’s your birthday,” Erik says with a bit more force. “I got you something. Look.”

Slowly and with anticipation, Charles opens his eyes a sliver. He takes in Erik’s slightly nervous, small smile and his hands spread open-palmed before him. In them lies a pair of fingerless gloves, the yarn a dark ocean blue and the stiches perfect in their imperfection.

“ _Erik_ ,” Charles breathes, moving to drag his legs into place as he sits up, trying to get a better look at the gloves. He reaches out to take them delicately from Erik’s hands, running his fingertips over the rough wool and admiring the color.

“They’re beautiful, Erik,” Charles whispers, suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. “Thank you. I didn’t know you knew how to knit.”

At that, Erik shrugs and smiles a little sheepishly, sticking his hands into his pants pockets uncertainly.

“It was easy enough to learn,” he says. “Knitting needles are metal, you know.” He lifts one shoulder slightly and shifts his weight around a bit.

“That’s marvelous, my friend,” Charles says, pulling the gloves onto his hands to test them out. They fit perfectly, like they were made for his hands. Which they were. Charles feels like crying all over again at that thought.

“Now, let’s get started with our day,” Charles says, levering himself out of bed and to his chair, which Erik pulls over with his powers, happy to help and mind shining with relief and warmth.

*

They spend the rest of the day exploring the grounds, Charles navigating the terrain expertly and Erik levitating his chair whenever there is a particularly rough spot. All the while, Charles can sense that Erik’s mind is racing with some undisclosed thought, the potential for words swirling around his head in a flurry of German and Polish. Keeping true to his word, Charles carefully avoids digging deep enough into Erik’s mind to hear the specifics of his thoughts, content to let Erik bring up the topic when he is ready.

One of Charles’ fondest memories of the day so far consists of the two of them sitting in the long grass, Charles explaining the concepts of the genetics books he’s been reading and how they apply to the history of mutation while Erik sits in rapt attention. Charles suspects that Erik doesn’t know what a word of what he’s saying means, but the warmth in his eyes and the way the swirl of thoughts in his mind dies down to a low hum all fill Charles with unmeasurable joy. The gloves that Erik made him ensconce his hands in warmth as well, protecting them from the cold, biting wind. Charles thinks that he couldn’t be happier.

But it turns out that he is wrong. Erik surprises him two more times that evening, first with a blanket fort that he _insists_ they are not too old to be making at the ages of 13 and 15. The blankets are draped over chairs probably ten times Charles and Erik’s ages, crisscrossing back and forth across the spacious den. The radio is nestled in their midst, and a lopsided cake sits on an end table nearby. They make themselves at home in the small fort, bringing joy to a joyless house, nestled close together under layers of cloth. It’s oddly intimate, in a way that Charles can’t help but feel embarrassed by, color rising to his cheeks and the back of his neck burning at Erik’s proximity.

Then, all at once, the mess of thoughts in Erik’s head crystallize into a singular, overwhelming action urge, tinged orange-red at the edges with determination. All Charles can think as Erik reaches forward for his hand and leans in is _I’m about to be kissed._

The first touch is hesitant—then surer, as confidence builds in Erik when Charles doesn’t pull away but instead leans into the kiss and wraps his mind around Erik’s just the way he wraps his hands around Erik’s. Their lips press pleasantly together in a soft kiss. Erik pulls back momentarily to open his eyes, gaze meeting Charles’. Charles knows that Erik is looking for some kind of reassurance, so he nods softly once and squeezes his hands around Erik’s to show him _yes, this is okay, I’m saying yes, please_.

At that, Erik flashes a brilliant smile then dives back in to give Charles an even more forceful kiss, one that Charles meets him halfway for. Erik crawls forwards into Charles’ space, making himself at home but careful of Charles’ legs. Charles in turn brings his hands up—still glove-clad and warm—to either side of Erik’s face, holding on for dear life and willing himself to calm his beating heart.

They kiss for what must be close to an hour, going no further than gentle caresses and pressed lips, enjoying each other’s company in this new-found way. Finally, they both seem to agree—whether it is through communication of minds or body language—that they should stop. When they pull back from each other, they are both panting and red-faced and smiling like idiots.

“Thank you, my friend,” Charles says, leaning his head against Erik’s shoulder to catch his breath. Erik’s thumbs brush over the gloves still on Charles’ hands.

“For what?” Erik asks, mirroring Charles’ position and hugging him tight.

“For the best birthday present,” Charles says.

And, if this time he does cry, Erik won’t tell.


End file.
